


The Ending and Beginning of Elias Bouchard

by SupposedToBeWriting



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: But Also You Know Some Violence and Sadness, CW Mention of Drug Use, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Humor, Set 1996
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22480396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/SupposedToBeWriting
Summary: Before he was the head of the Magnus Institute, Elias Bouchard was just an assistant. The most pressing problem, aside from the constant near-death experiences in the Archives, was making sure that the new guy, Michael Shelley, didn't get himself killed and trying to avoid Gertrude Robinson if at all possible. He couldn't say he liked it, but it was a job.Until James Wright decided he had other plans for the young man.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	1. Michael Shelley

“I think she’s coming back today,” Michael commented anxiously in the breakroom. He was leaning against the counter with a coffee mug in his hand. The mug ‘to tea or not to tea’ on it, along with the visage of the original writer of the bastardized phrase – Michael hadn’t really _enjoyed_ Shakespeare in University, but his flatmate had felt guilty when he realized that nobody would be coming to watch Michael graduate. When it came down to it, he didn’t know his flatmate _that_ well, and he supposed his flatmate in turn thought all young men who studied English literature in England had a hard-on for Shakespeare.

It was a sweet gesture, Michael supposed, but he never really minded all that much when it was inevitably temporarily stolen from the Archives cupboard.

Next to him came a sleepy grunt from the fuzzy-faced brunette next to him. Elias Bouchard was perhaps the closest thing Michael Shelley had to a friend in the Institute – _it’s only been a few months,_ Michael’s optimistic mind returned to him, _you’ll make more. More who aren’t …_

 _Don’t be rude, Elias isn’t that bad_.

He was wearing a hoodie with the hood drawn halfway over his face, grubby trousers that _might’_ ve passed as semi-professional at some point. The man was clearly in his early thirties and Michael wondered if the heavy smell of weed that clung about him was from this morning or a remnant of last night. It hardly mattered. Elias _always_ smelled of weed.

“Y’think?” Elias finally commented. He reached for the finished coffee pot and filled up his mug halfway. It read ‘Mum Is One Step Above Queen’ in floral, curlicue font, accompanied by several flowers. Michael racked his head trying to think of who he’d stolen _that_ from, exactly. “How long has she been gone?”

“Two weeks? Not a word to anyone, just a scribbled note on her desk that I couldn’t decipher. I brought it up to James, but …” Michael sighed and reached for his hair. It curled tightly against his forehead and was still slightly damp from the walk over to the Institute. He couldn’t properly tell if Elias’ brunette hair was wet or simply just greasy, because Michael found it hard to believe that the man had showered that morning _if he still smelled like that._ “You’d think a boss would be more concerned if the Head Archivist just effs off for half a month.”

That made Elias snort. “Eff.”

Michael felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.

“You’re, what, seventeen? You’re allowed to say fuck, you know.”

“ _I’m twenty-three!_ I have a degree from University.”

“Ever better.” Elias reached for the milk from the fridge and a fair helping of sugar. Simultaneously, he poured both into his coffee until it reached the brim. “Fuckity fuck fuck.”

Michael’s mother had been odd about swearing. They’d been quite poor, but she never wanted people to _know_ that they were poor, and she had very strange ideas about what poor people did. He had had to iron his t-shirts for years.

She wasn’t a bad mother, though. Michael was still quietly devastated from when she’d passed away his second year. Illness, sudden and beyond help – two weeks from diagnosis to morgue. She hadn’t told anyone how much pain she’d been in.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Elias punctuated with a final shake of the sugar into the coffee mug.

“Right, okay, you’ve made your point,” Michael mumbled. “I just feel like I’m being watched in here.” A sensation that Elias clearly didn’t feel, with how he dressed and generally conducted himself. Michael half-wished he could be like him. Utterly unafraid about what people thought about him. Perhaps he ought to get into weed? It was a consideration. “How can you drink that, El?” He asked, pivoting the conversation. “Seriously.” Michael reached for the container and poured a respectable amount of sugar in. “There. Little bit of sweetness. Done.”

“Not all of us hate ourselves, Mikey,” Elias teased. He reached up to tousle Michael’s hair affectionately. _The big – er, little? – brother I never had,_ Michael thought to himself. “Come on. Treat yourself.”

“I’m _quite_ lactose intolerant, so we’re going to pass on that, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Elias took the jug of milk and, before Michael could stop him, took a swig. He brought it back down and placed it on the counter before belching once. Michael watched in disgust. “What?”

“No, you are _not –_ don’t just _put_ that back!” Michael snatched it from him as Elias bent to return it to the fridge. He stared at it for a second, trying to determine the right thing to do. Toss the entire thing? Put a sticky note on it that said ‘Elias Bouchard’s lips have touched this’? “What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us three who ever come down here. Me, you, and dear old Gertrude. And dear old Gertrude drinks hers black.”

 _“Still._ What if someone from above? You _are_ disgusting, I hope you know that,” Michael accused as he took the napkin, wiping off the rim of the milk container before putting it back. Elias shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the counter. He brought his mug to his lips. “And – what are you, 40?”

Feathers ruffled, Elias held up one hand. “ _Hey,_ that’s uncalled for. I’m 32.”

Michael filed that away in his memory. Easy to remember. He was 23, Elias was 32, and Gertrude was 55. They were a good little trio. A good team. Even if one of them drank from the communal milk carton.

“Do you think you’ll be staying around long?” Elias suddenly asked. He flicked his dark brown hair out of his face to peer up at Michael. Michael towered above him, but Michael never felt very tall. He’d always been gangly and gaunt with wide, teary gray eyes. The growth spurt had hit him late, but he’d always had unusually large hands, like a puppy of a large breed. His fingers easily curled around his entire mug and touched one another.

Michael had considered the question before. He _had_ options, he knew, but when he graduated … Michael had realized that his mum wasn’t coming to graduation, had realized that his mum would never come to his wedding, had realized that his mum would never see his kids being born or ridiculous primary school ceremonies or taking them for a long weekend. It’d been difficult to force himself to get out of bed until rent had become a pressing issue. The Archives had promised steady work with limited public interaction.

“Ehm, maybe until the end of the millennium?” Michael shot out, decision akin to nothing. “Seems like the best time for a new start.”

“4 years, then. Not bad, not bad.”

He’d stay well past then, Michael knew. He _liked_ it here. Only a few months, but he’d already … it was good work. Paid well. Nice boss – Gertrude, not James, because he’d only spoken to the old man a few times and had been struck scared stiff on every occasion.

And Elias was okay. Good company, good to get a drink with, good to talk with in the breakroom when Gertrude decided to _fuck_ off for weeks at a time. Michael liked having friends. He was considering taking up a flatmate to cut costs a bit, and while he’d have to invest in some sort of room freshener … Elias seemed a decent enough choice.

“Say, where do you li – “

Michael’s question was cut off to the door to the breakroom opening. A middle-aged-approaching-elderly woman stood there – at least, Michael could only presume it was a woman, because she was wearing a large motorcycle helmet. Leather riding jacket, too. She reached up to yank it off, and there was Gertrude Robinson, hair already half-out of her bun.

“Look at you, wearing a helmet today,” Elias commented. His hair flopped back over his eyes. Michael wondered how it was that he could see, because it was really quite thick and long over there. “What a good example you’re setting.”

“I don’t need the attitude today, Bouchard.” Gertrude stepped forward and reached for the mug. “Have we got any milk left? You always make it too bitter.”

Just as Elias was reaching for the handle of the fridge, Michael stuck a hand out. “No!” He blurted out, too loudly and awkwardly. Elias smirked from below his fringe and folded his arms across his chest. “El, um, Elias finished the rest of it. Sorry. How …” Michael watched as Gertrude took the sugar, instead. “How was your trip, Gertrude?”

“Disappointing.” A sip, a wince, and then another sip. “The book I was tracking down seems to have disappeared for the time being. I’m sure it’ll come up. Every registered owner has been reported to gone missing, last known sighting in whichever slaughterhouse is closest, so I gave the health department an anonymous tip about human meat being used in Bristol. I imagine we’ll hear about it on the news, soon, and then I’ll go back.”

“Burgers for lunch, then?” Elias asked, and god help him, he _did_ get a chuckle out of Gertrude Robinson at that. Michael wondered how long it would take before he stopped feeling faintly queasy at jokes like that. Perhaps by the end of the millennium.

He didn’t think Gertrude had any family. At least, none she mentioned. Elias, either. Michael actively tried not to let himself think about it, but … _big brother Elias and mother bear Gertrude_ occasionally crept into his mind about once a week.

There was nothing healthy about getting that attached to a workplace, Michael knew, but … when he wasn’t in the Archives, he went home and stared at the wall. Maybe moving in with Elias would help? Elias went out, _did_ things, occasionally spoke about the men that he brought home. Michael hadn’t been to a club – well, ever – so it would be nice, even if Elias was a bit older than him, just to have someone to show him around. To do things with.

“Christ, Elias, you smell like the back exit to a dormitory.”

“No whiskey in your coffee today, Gertrude? Age _does_ come to us all, I suppose.”

“Snappy today. I guess it hasn’t set in yet.”

“What can I say? You just make me feel so _alive.”_

Michael rolled his eyes at their snapping at one another, finishing the rest of his coffee. He started to wash it, and reached for Elias’ empty mug to wash it as well. “Have you got any big plans for the rest of the day, Gertrude?” Michael asked cheerfully. “I was going to go to the deli on the corner for lunch later, I could pick you up something –”

Elias snorted. Elias had a habit of calling him a teacher’s pet.

“No, no,” Gertrude waved him off. “I have some statements to read.”

“All – all day, no lunch?”

“I’ll need you to find a few things in Artifact Storage.” Mentally, Michael flinched. Not Artifact Storage. He _hated_ Artifact Storage. It was _creepy,_ and the realization that some of these things were actually haunted, or – or _whatever_ didn’t make it much better. Michael didn’t want to die in some dingey old room and be found by whatever poor sod took his position next. But, he didn’t complain, only placed the wet mugs upside down on the rack. “I’ll write you a list.”

Michael spared a glance towards Elias. Impossible to know whether Elias was looking in the eyes or not with the fringe, but Michael tried his best _hi-please-shirk-your-duties-and-come-with-me-to-the-spooky-basement_ look. Elias flashed him a bright smile in understanding. _Oh, thank god._

“I’ll join you after my meeting with James.”

“Your – your meeting with James?” Michael asked curiously. That didn’t exactly bode well. Elias’ professional work was not exactly … he had once put Micahel’s name down as Meyechael on paperwork. Not to mention his dress, his behavior, and the constant smell that hung about him like an awful aftershave. “Um. Did he say what about? It’s not, it’s not performance review time, is it?” His head swiveled to Gertrude, who shook hers.

She wordlessly handed her empty mug to Michael. “No. Maybe we’ll be lucky and you’ll be fired, Elias,” Gertrude cooed, patting his shoulder as she passed by the man. “I’ve got work to do.”

Elias scowled a bit. “Hag,” he muttered, and Michael caught Gertrude’s barked laughter as the door shut behind her. He straightened up somewhat. “What’s that look on your face for?”

“You aren’t _worried?”_

“Not _really._ I mean,” Elias sighed and rested his elbow on the counter to stare at Michael. “Here’s how things work around here. They don’t really _fire_ people in the Archives.”

Michael’s eyes widened slightly.

“They don’t kill them, either.”

“Oh, thank god.” His hand flew to his chest.

“Christ, Michael, you really are dramatic sometimes, you know that? No. I don’t know what it’s about, but it’s probably some hush-hush task James wants me to do.”

“Wants _you –“_

“I’m more than just a pretty face.” Elias reached for his hoodie and brushed more of his hair in front of his face. Michael was suddenly struck that he’d never seen the man’s eyes. He had no idea what their color were – or even if he had two of them. “I’ll come find you in Artifact Storage when it’s all over, okay? Don’t wander too far in or else I’ll _never_ find you.” Elias reached over and tapped his fingers against Michael’s shoulder, one by one. “And _then_ you turn into a ghost and haunt the Archives _forever._ Oooooo.”

Somehow, that did manage to ease his worries a little. Elias was going to find him. He would go get a sandwich from the deli – maybe one for Elias, too – and he’d bring Gertrude some tea later – and it was going to be a fine day. Michael felt himself relaxing, even light-heartedly flicking Elias’ hand off his shoulder.

“Fuck off, Elias.”

While it was not the last sound he would ever hear Elias Bouchard’s body make, the last noise that Michael ever heard from Elias was a self-satisfied, delighted guffaw.


	2. Elias Bouchard

Elias was perhaps somewhat more unnerved than he led on, but he wasn’t going to frighten Michael yet. The kid was new, just a few months into the game, and he hadn’t approved of Gertrude exposing so much to him as it was. It was a lot to take in all at once. Elias figured he had better coping mechanisms than most. At least he didn’t throw himself at danger with a suicidal recklessness, like certain middle-aged women did. He kept his head down, smoked to maintain his sanity, and that was that.

Michael was better company than previous assistants had been, at least. He was just a kid, sure, and he was getting weirdly attached to Gertrude, but Elias trusted him well enough.

James, on the other hand, not at all.

He walked towards his office and peered inside the small window. Nothing. Perhaps he was fortunate and James had simply forgotten that they were meant to meet today and oh, _shit._ Elias jumped a mile as he felt a tap on his shoulder and he turned around to face his boss. For a man who walked with a thick wooden cane, James had a habit of sneaking up on people.

James was an old man, with at least twenty years on Gertrude. He showed it with sagging jowls and liverspots all over his balding forehead. A few white hairs sprouted there in a way that wasn’t dissimilar to an onion. Still, he dressed impeccably – old as hell suits, granted, but impeccably nonetheless.

“Hello, boss,” he greeted in a low voice. “You said you wanted to meet?”

“Yes, Mr. Bouchard,” James scraggled out. “Follow me.” With that, the old man turned on his heel and started to go back down the corridor.

They weren’t meeting in his office. That blew a hole in Elias’ ‘James wants me to go on a secret mission’ theory, but at least bolstered Elias’ opinion that it wasn’t anything too serious. James and Gertrude didn’t get along. Perhaps James was looking for gossip there. Not that Elias knew much, but he didn’t hold any particular loyalty to the woman. They’d worked together for years, now, and Elias can’t say that he really liked her.

Michael may have been keen to see the place as a family, Elias figured, and that was sweet, and Elias was going to keep him safe – but it was a stupid, stupid idea.

“Your paperwork’s all up to date?” James asked as Elias stood next to him. James stood much taller than him, though they were on more equal footing as James leaned over his cane. “For your employment.”

“ _Uh … “_ Elias trilled his lips. “Yeah. Should be.”

“Just making certain. Gertrude never seems to have any sort of system when it comes to her filing, and I wasn’t sure if you did, either.”

“My handwriting’s legible, at least.”

James wasn’t amused .”Some days.”

Normally, Elias would raise up a small argument about whether a person’s handwriting really varied that much day-to-day, but he kept shut that day. He didn’t often go into this part of the Archives. The overhead lights weren’t even turning on, and the entire corridor was only lit from the light pouring out around the corner. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, James?” He asked. “The paperwork? Because I’ve got to go back to Artifact Storage – “

“No.” James paused a few times to cough into a handkerchief, and _Christ,_ it had James’s bloody name in it. How archaic was this guy. Elias self-consciously tugged his hood tighter around his eyes. “ _No,_ don’t be ridiculous, Elias. _Elias,”_ James added to himself in a lower voice. “Elias Bouchard.”

Okay, he was starting to get creeped out a bit. Maybe the old man had really started to go loony. Gertrude always warned not to trust him, and that had never been a danger, but there was ‘not trust’ and ‘actively distrust’. Elias was creeping towards the latter.

It was almost pitch dark. Elias was about to open his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, exactly, when a light flicked on. James had a torch clutched in his gnarled hand, and it was shining on the wall. Or rather – where the wall should have been.

In its place was a hole.

It went down.

Elias instinctively went forward to inspect it and stared down. From James’s torch, he could see that there were … steps. They weren’t like the normal steps of the Institute, either, but rather hewn from rough stone. Definitely steps, though. There was an old metal handrail that seemed much more modern than the rest of the stairs.

He turned back to see a strange light in James’s eyes. “What is this?” Elias asked, reaching for his hood. He pulled it back and brushed his hair out of his eyes to stare at James. James met his exactly. “How did you find out about this?”

“I found old schematics of the Archives. There’s tunnels underground, but I don’t know what they’re of. I wanted to explore myself, but,” he gave a sweeping gesture, “I thought it would be best if I brought along an attendant.”

“In case you got hurt.”

“Exactly.” Another hacking cough.

Elias looked at the man, at the strange glint in his eyes, and then back down the stairs. There was the urge to say no, to simply go back to Artifact Storage, and continue his day. But he couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t really have a choice. He turned back towards the hole and stepped inside.

He’d never been frightened of the dark, or of being underground. That had never bothered him. Elias wasn’t scared much, anymore, which was unusual. Dealing with constant horrors had simply become work. He stepped down a few of the stairs, his trainers squeaking somewhat against them. The stairs had to end sometime.

And they did, releasing them into some tunnels with packed earthen walls. It went forward in both directions, and Elias looked back where they had come from. James was coming down behind him. Each step down led to another loud ‘tap’ of his cane that echoed through the tunnels. “Should I go back and get some more supplies?” Elias asked. “I mean, how long do you expect to be down here?”

“No need to sound so lazy, Elias,” James grumbled as he went further down the tunnels. He didn’t look to see what was in the opposite direction. “An hour or two. You’ve had your coffee. And you’re _young.”_

‘I mean, I _am_ 32\. If you’re looking for youth, I can run up and grab Michael.” Suddenly, it felt like a very bad idea to go into the tunnels. Like something was lying there, some gigantic beast. A dragon, maybe, snoozing until they disturbed its slumber. Elias wasn’t a fan of throwing Michael to the wolves, but at the end of the day …

… Gertrude would probably do the same, so Elias didn’t hate himself for it.

“No. No, Michael’s not right.” Without clarifying, James continued further down into the tunnels. Elias followed him. Whatever lurked in the tunnels, he knew abandoning James down here would lead to a much worse fate. He walked behind him slowly. All the while, he looked all around, occasionally stopping to sweep his long hair from the side. _When you’re done with this, tell Michael you’re going home early,_ Elias told himself, _Go home, have a bowl, just relax. It’ll be fine. You’re keying yourself up, he just wants to explore the tunnels._

_When it comes down to it, you’re 32 and he’s an old, old man._

“The Magnus Institute wasn’t the first thing on this lot, you know,” James extolled, “Plenty of things prior to us coming in.”

“Early 19th century, right?” Elias knew that much. The ‘established’ year hung over his head every day, whenever he came in. He followed behind James. There was the sound of water, somewhere, and the sound of … _shifting._ Something in the walls was shifting, and Elias couldn’t say what it was. “London’s been around a lot longer than that. So, yeah. I imagine.”

“1818, yes, though originally based in Edinburgh. It has a long history.”

 _And you’ve been here since 1818, wow, you look lovely for such an old pensioner,_ Elias thought to himself, and had to stifle a snicker. Their steps – three on James’s part, two on his own – echoed throughout the tunnels. “So what do you reckon was put here before us?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea. Record-keeping has been so difficult lately. You know, they _are_ saying digital is the future.”

“Try telling Gertrude that. She’s still trying to figure out the fax.”

“Hm. It’s something to consider,” James mumbled to himself. They came to a small clearing – Elias could still hear running water somewhere deep below the tunnels, somewhere, and had no idea where that was coming from. How far did these tunnels go, exactly? It reminded Elias dimly of an ant hill. Tiny pile on top, gigantic caverns underneath. “Do you have anyone, Elias?”

 _Uh._ Elias twitched hard at that question, coughing reflexively. James didn’t hesitate at the choice of two passages, choosing one immediately. Was James asking if he was … _taken?_ Did old people just _ask_ about this? “Um, no,” he remarked. Bringing a guy around for more than a night seemed foolish at best and intentionally cruel at worst, with his position and the things he had going on in his life. “No, I don’t.”

“Neither do I. Aside from a few reoccurring … nuisances,” James grumbled under his breath, and the mere _suggestion_ that James had had _sex_ at any point made Elias recoil and shudder. _Ew ew ew. Scrub it out of my mind, oh god, pluck out my eyes, please._ “Family?”

Elias’ lips pursed. “No,” he responded in the negative. Had, at one point, and then they’d gone on a holiday in America, and Elias hadn’t been feeling well so he opted to stay in the hotel while his family had left to drive to the beach and … just like that, twin brothers, a mother, and a father. Gone. “None.” And, just because he was a bit annoyed at being asked, he continued, “Figure you don’t have any, then?”

“No, no. Pity, because I’ve been told that it’s one of the greatest connections a person can have. But I suppose I have that with the Institute. With my workers.”

Was James trying to have a heart to heart with him? Was that what this was? Some ramblings from an old man near the end of his life? Elias coughed awkwardly into his shoulder. Michael would’ve been far better suited to this. The boy studied English literature, for God’s sake, he was soft like that. Elias had studied philosophy and hadn’t been very good at it.

“The past few years, I _have_ been wondering about who will take my place when I die.”

“Not the sort for retirement, then?”

The smile James gave him seemed indicative of a man much younger than James truly was. “I’m not the relaxing sort, I’m afraid.”

“So who will take over? Gertrude?”

“God, no. I wouldn’t trust that woman as far as I can throw her. We’ll see. There’s an entire process involved, and I don’t feel like I’m in particularly bad health.” Elias had to turn away so that James couldn’t see his disbelief. The man had a smoker’s cough and looked like he was ready to be placed back into a mortuary cabinet.

There was something private, walking along a dirty tunnel with only James’s torch to provide illumination. Elias tried to keep a mental checklist of what turns they’d taken, but as they went further and further, he began to worry about his ability to successfully recall it. He stopped in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder. “Maybe we should head back. It’s – I don’t want to get lost down here, and we’ve gone pretty far.”

James stopped and hesitated, examining the walls of the tunnel himself. He looked winded. Without a word, he nodded and they began to walk back. Elias felt his spirits lift up immediately. _Yes,_ he was going to go back to Artifact Storage. Regale Michael with this very weird experience. Get something fantastic for lunch. Go home, smoke, fall asleep, forget he worked in the Archives for twelve consecutive hours.

They wandered back out into the clearing again, and …

The first time they’d been there, Elias could’ve sworn there were three openings in all. One where they had come out of, one where they had gone to, and one they hadn’t yet explored. It was easy to remember which one they hadn’t gone into, so Elias had been confident in his ability to find the one they’d come out of.

But.

There were five openings, now. And they all looked so frightfully similar.

“Um. James, do you remember …?” Elias asked, but James’s gaze was turned downward. There was something a bit pale about his face. “Shit. James, you okay?”

No response. He was leaned forward somewhat, one hand on his knee, as if he couldn’t properly hold up his chest. _“Fuck,”_ Elias swore loudly enough to echo around the small opening. “I’m going to … James, _please_ just sit down, I’m going to go get help. I’ll be right back.” He had to get back to the Archives. At least to inform Gertrude and to call for help. He reached over and gripped James’s shoulder. “ _I’m going to be right back,”_ he promised, before turning around and looking at the corridor options again.

He was scared, now. It was an unusual sensation, crawling up and down his spine, but Elias was _scared._

Elias turned his back on James and placed his hands on his hips to inspect where they had come from. He had to make a choice and stick with it, and hope to god that he didn’t end up as rat food down in the tunnels himself.

When it came down to it, Elias didn’t have to make a choice at all.

He took a step forward before he heard something behind him. Something thick and wooden cracked across his head. Elias was aware of the sound, echoing in the small arena, before the pain. Elias fell forward on his hands and knees and then rolled onto his side. Both arms went to cradle his head. It hurt. It hurt so badly that he whimpered in response, staring up at who had done this.

There stood James.

James was holding the cane as if it were a bat, staring down at him. There wasn’t the … _rage,_ Elias would’ve expected. It was simple, calm, calculated determination. “James –” Elias choked out in shock. He reached forward to brush the hair out of his eyes again and they came away sticky. “What are you --?”

In full, Elias Bouchard had about fifteen seconds left of life. It felt like an eternity, watching James swing the cane down, his last few moments filled with stunned confusion and pain. He managed to get out a – “James, _please!” –_ before the blow connected. Elias went limp. His eyes remained wide open, hazel irises gazing sightlessly at the head of the Institute.


	3. Gertrude Robinson

Michael was earnestly trying to squeeze her organs out of her, Gertrude considered, and it was starting to piss her off. The motorcycle engine revved loudly as Gertrude pulled into the alley on the side of the Institute. There was a side entrance to the Archives that she preferred to take down there, and Gertrude wasn’t about to socialize with the other Institute workers if she could help it.

They’d just gotten back from the train station. Gertrude wasn’t in a very good mood about having to cut their trip short. As it _happened,_ they _had_ found human body parts in the meat grinder in Bristol, and that would’ve been an excellent opportunity to track down that Leitner.

But, _no._ Elias had to let himself go and be _found_ after being missing for three days, and James had to go and die.

The old bastard was always throwing a wrench into her plans. Frankly, Gertrude hadn’t been answering to him for some years. She knew what she had to do, and James granted her the funding, and that was generally where their association ended. She had been half-tempted to just remain in Bristol.

 _But_ there had been mention of tunnels under the Institute, and that had perked up Gertrude’s ears. She was pretty certain Michael believed that she had returned due to concern for Elias’ safety … while she _was_ going to speak to Elias, and perhaps a question about his safety would come up, she was going to wring that little pothead for all the information he was worth first.

She killed the engine and stepped off the motorcycle. The motorcycle had been a little bit of an impulse, but Gertrude couldn’t imagine that she would live much longer, so why not live a little better on a metal machine sent from hell?

At least, that seemed to be Michael’s opinion on the matter about it .

He stepped off with lightly trembling legs, withdrawing Gertrude’s helmet. “Don’t suppose you’ll want to be getting on that again,” she remarked as she went in the side door, and Michael nodded. He looked like he was trying hard not to be ill. The boy had the complexion of someone who got ill a _lot._

Now, it was time to get to the bottom of all this. “Is Elias in?” Michael asked behind her. “I mean, they wouldn’t just _let_ him come back so soon, already. He was gone for three days, he’s probably – dehydrated, traumatized, something.”

“Elias? I’m sure he’s fine.” He better be. Gertrude had driven all the way into London from a train station; she was not going to try and track down Elias’ flat on top of it.

James’s death didn’t particularly traumatize her. He was old. And a bastard besides. Gertrude hoped the next one, whoever that would be, had a little more sense about him and was less of a prick. Even if they were tied to the Eye, Gertrude wasn’t of the opinion that it necessitated being a dick.

Gertrude half-slammed her keys in her office door and struggled with it for a moment, before opening. There was a large mass of paper wedged behind it. _I’ll file those statements later._ There were more pressing things to do. She had taken her bag off her shoulder when she heard a squeak beside her. “Elias?” Michael asked in surprise.

She looked down the hall.

There was Elias Bouchard.

Or … Elias Bouchard’s person, anyway.

The man was still there, the man was still of average height, the man was still roughly Elias’ shape. But his hair had been dyed golden blond and trimmed, now able to be coifed back into a professional half-up ponytail. He was entirely clean-shaven and wearing a rather expensive-looking suit. Hazel eyes bored into Gertrude’s, and Gertrude realized she’d seen that exact look before. That exact calculating look.

In that moment, Gertrude understood.

It all made sense, in retrospect. James Wright simply would not have lived as long as he did if he had become an Avatar that early. Body-hopping. How _extraordinary._ Gertrude could not fathom why he had chosen Elias Bouchard, of all people, when Michael was nearly a decade younger and was also right there. Perhaps it was Michael’s frequent tendency to catch ill – or, if this truly were the original Jonah Magnus from the early 1800s, perhaps there was no discounting good old-fashioned racism, as well. Not that she’d ever seen a picture of Mr. Magnus himself.

“Eli?” Michael asked again, voice uncertain. The poor, poor boy. Gertrude felt for him, she truly did, but there was just no making friends here. She’d discovered that decades ago. No friends, only … allies, and even that was increasingly temporary. Despite her better judgement, she raised a hand to place it on Michael’s back. “Is that … you?”

“Michael,” Elias greeted curtly. His eyes flashed over to Gertrude, and Gertrude could’ve sworn he was _daring_ her to say something. “Gertrude. How was your trip?”

“Cut short.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” It was very clear that he wasn’t. “And I did mean to call, but I thought it best to wait until you return to announce it.”

“A-announce it?” Michael still seemed partially stunned from Elias’ appearance. He even held himself differently. Previously, Elias walked with a bit of a slouch, and Gertrude realized this was the first time she had ever seen his eyes. “Announce what?”

“Well, with James’s unfortunate passing, we are going to need a new head of the Institute. He decided to nominate _me_ as his replacement.”

 _Feasibly, how many bodies have you taken, James?_ Gertrude asked herself silently. _Surely you could’ve come up with a better plan than this. Taking a filing assistant and making them the Head of the Institute, really?_

Perhaps James – Elias – Jonah didn’t need a better plan. It was hardly as if Gertrude was going to purposefully antagonize the Eye when she had more important things to be dealing with. And, given the way Michael was gaping like a fish next to her, she doubted that Michael would be providing much by way of difficulty either.

“But – but – “ Michael started off, before shaking his head. “This doesn’t make sense. _Gertrude,”_ he stated, turning around to face her. “You don’t believe this either, do you?”

Gertrude looked deep into Michael’s gray eyes and considered it. Her face remained calm the entire while, objectively calculating necessary risks. She turned back towards Elias.

“Pity that James died. What was it of?”

“Heart trouble.” Elias reached for his tie and tightened it around his neck. Gertrude noticed that he’d also gotten his nails done and the watch he was wearing was _quite_ expensive. How funny. “A shame. But also, with someone of his age, you can’t really be _all_ that surprised.”

No. No, Gertrude supposed she wasn’t. She removed her hand from Michael’s back. “I’m certain you have plenty of work to be doing as our new supervisor. And _we_ have plenty go over. Don’t we, Michael?” Gertrude asked, tilting her head up to look at the dumbstruck boy. He didn’t respond. Gertrude raised her arm and squeezed Michael’s. “ _Don’t we.”_

“Yes. Yes, I … suppose so. El, I –“

“I suppose I never told you that I _really_ don’t enjoy that nickname,” Elias sighed and looked up at Michael witheringly. “Late is better than never. Elias, if you would say the full thing.”

The hopelessness of it all seemed to hit Michael then. Gertrude visibly saw his shoulders slump and he nodded. “Yes, Elias,” he muttered, and then Gertrude turned around. Michael went with her back to her office. Gertrude felt she could breathe easier when they were alone.

At the very least, Gertrude supposed, she wouldn’t have to worry about the personality of her new employer. Same occupant, different fittings. She knew how to work with James. James was dangerous but mostly predictable, and she couldn’t say the same if some other person had been promoted to the position. Things would continue as normal, perhaps now with an employer who didn’t smell faintly of a funeral home.

Gertrude gently toed away the errant pile of statements on the floor. She’d organize them later. Finding an empty chair, she sat in it and began to go through her back. Christ, and now she’d have to talk to the librarians to get an accurate listing of all the libraries and bookshops in the Bristol area, to see where the hell that Leitner had gone. The past time, it had been found in a recipebook section of an independent bookstore. _Tasty._

“That’s not Elias,” Michael reported fervently. When Gertrude looked up, she saw there were tears in his eyes. _Oh no. Please don’t cry. I don’t abide crying._ “It can’t be. I don’t know what – I don’t know what James _did_ to him, but –”

She didn’t lie for the sake of it. She was good for it, sure, but she didn’t particularly enjoy it. But Gertrude Robinson didn’t really focus on what she enjoyed or not, anymore. The past few decades of her life had been spent trying to stop the end of the world, transformed into whatever twisted version of reality that an Entity wanted – and yet, she couldn’t help but feel like she was going about it all wrong, still. That she was only delaying things. Impermanent That there was another solution she hadn’t considered.

But there were _more_ wrong ways to be going about it, certainly. Michael wasn’t ready for the full knowledge of everything yet. He didn’t even know that he couldn’t quit yet, not that he seemed particularly keen to.

Poor, poor boy.

“Grief does things to people, Michael. As does trauma. Missing for a few days, and only Elias comes out? Perhaps he had a moment of …” Gertrude paused, searching for the right word in her mind. “A come-to-Jesus moment. Cleaned himself up.”

“But _Elias Bouchard,_ as Head of the Institute? He doesn’t – James didn’t even _like_ him.”

“Perhaps dear old James had a change of heart in his last moments.”

Michael sat down in Gertrude’s chair and leaned against the desk, blond curls cupped in one hand. He didn’t respond for a few moments. Gertrude was ready to grant him the rest of the day off. Instead, he reached for a pile of disorganized statements on the desk – one of them, Gertrude was positive, looked like it was written in highlighter, but she _really_ hadn’t been able to find any other writing utensil that day – and started to flip through them. “Gertrude,” he asked softly, “Is Elias dead?”

More astute than he let on. “You’ve just seen him out there. Of course he’s not dead.”

And frankly, Gertrude had no idea. An aspect of Elias Bouchard was still alive, even if it was just someone piloting his meat sack. As to whether the essence of Elias – his soul, for lack of a better term – still existed, Gertrude had no idea. The idea that he was still in there, pounding away at the back of his eyes in immobile desperation, was disturbing. And nothing she could do anything about. Because now, if Elias died, she would die, too. As would Michael. And possibly everyone else in the Institute, too.

No, it was better to hide that particular nugget of truth from Michael until he was ready. If he ever was.

“Right. Um,” Michael started, separating out the statements and starting to organize by date. He had a particular knack for deciphering Gertrude’s handwriting that the library workers didn’t have. For a little while, he seemed as if he didn’t know how to phrase the question, before it all came out at once. “Am I going to die?”

There was the urge to snap at him. What a foolish question. Of course Michael was going to die. Gertrude was going to die, too. She couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t have been snapped up by the Leitner in Bristol, or gotten into a motorcycle accident on the way back, or been struck dead by Elias if they so wanted. Everyone died, some in nastier ways than others, and it was best just to get on with it sometimes.

But Michael looked up to her, in ways that Elias simply hadn’t. She’d seen that look in his eyes before. He honestly thought she was some accomplished Archivist, instead of some old woman trying to stop what was increasingly feeling inevitable.

Gertrude walked over to Michael sitting at her desk. “Not like that, Michael,” she promised. “Never like that.”

She saw Michael swallow and nod. “Okay.” He continued organizing the statements for a few moments longer. Gertrude wished she knew what he was thinking. How much he understood, how much he truthfully _knew._ It was impossible to walk through Artifact Storage and not get the creeping sensation that something was both _real_ and _wrong_ in the Institute, and James had put Michael in Artifact Storage an awful lot. The tears, at least, had disappeared from Michael’s eyes. “I – we need to talk to the workers in the library. Get a list of bookshops and libraries in Bristol. Mobile libraries, too,” he muttered to himself. “ _Delicatessen_ last popped up in a bookshop and was apparently only there for a week before being bought. We’ll have to head back right away.”

_Yes, Michael. Throw yourself into the work. It works out better for you in the long run._

“I’ll just keep my bag packed, then.” Gertrude pushed herself up from the chair and looked out the window in her door. Elias was probably in his office, now. She wondered if there was any sort of delay to him acquiring his powers – probably not, which meant that he was most definitely watching them. Trying to determine what Gertrude knew.

Well. She could play the foolish old woman for a little while longer, until she found the best strategy to deal with him. Elias was the least of her problems. She’d have to hire another assistant in the Archives, though, which would be dreadful. Perhaps she could just push that off on Elias.

Michael’s face was withdrawn as he stood, and Gertrude’s heart was not entirely deadened yet.

“We’ll head back tomorrow. For the time being, when you get hungry, I want you to take a break,” Gertrude told him in a tone that appeared more like a command than a friendly offer. “We’re going to the deli for dinner. While exploring that slaughterhouse _did_ stifle my appetite, I’m going to be getting peckish soon.”

There was a split-second hesitation before Michael’s lips split into a wide smile. “Sure, M- Gertrude, that sounds great. I’ll come find you and we’ll walk. I’ll pass on the motorcycle for the foreseeable future.”

“No later than six PM,” Gertrude warned. “I’m approaching sixty, I won’t be eating dinner late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. See you around, Gertrude.” His spirits temporarily bolstered, Michael walked out of the door and shut it behind him. It left Gertrude in her growingly messy office, standing with her hands on her hips.

 _I really am sorry about all that, Elias,_ Gertrude thought to herself as she swept off a clean spot on her desk. _But you know how these things go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's the end of the 'How did Elias become Elias?' one-shot that's been kicking around in my head! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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